


Winchester's White Christmas

by Batsymomma11



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Feels, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, End, Family, Fluff, Long-Term Relationship(s), Loving Dean Winchester, M/M, Moving In Together, Season/Series 15, Worried Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22575784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsymomma11/pseuds/Batsymomma11
Summary: Sam hates Christmas. Dean loves everything about it. Eileen only wants a little more sleep. And Cas has no idea why everyone makes a big deal about the holiday in the first place.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 40





	Winchester's White Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Supernatural or its characters. I do own this little fluffy story.  
> Thanks for reading and enjoy.

Sam had never felt the need to celebrate a toxically commercialized holiday that was as traditionally pagan as it was an explosion of garish red and green.

Christmas was a joke. Something that was at one time a period for celebrating the lengthening of days but had turned into a way to scare children into obeying for a fat red-suited man.

A joke. A farce.

An idiotic game that gave people an excuse to spend money. 

Sam didn’t like glitter. He didn’t like snow. He really, really didn’t like apple cider, pumpkin pie, or a traditional ham.

The lights were too bright and the music obnoxious.

Shopping was like pulling teeth, no matter how kind or giving the intentions might be.

Trees should be outdoors and no one—no one should be allowed to sing Jingle Bells as much as Dean did. No one.

Yeah--Sam was a world-class scrooge. A grinch. A crabby old man with no qualms about saying so when it came to the entire Christmas charade.

He’d never liked the holiday and after thirty-six years, he still didn’t. No amount of bullying, shoving, or just ‘trying’ was going to change that. Sam had already made his peace with his dislike of all things Christmas.

It was Dean that hadn’t.

The man was determined to make Sam into his protégé, doing everything short of begging Sam to join in the celebrations every year like it was life or death. They killed monsters for a living, for Christ’s sake. One would have imagined they had moved past this childish inclination to make merry and pretend their world was happy or even remotely joyful. He would never understand how Dean could put on his domestic cap and simply ‘decide’ to live like one of the norms when they would never be.

Still, Sam did understand that this year was different. It was different for a lot of reasons.

Well—two reasons. 

Cas and Eileen.

Sam felt his shoulders pinch with tension as he rummaged in the cabinets for the coffee grounds, ignoring the urge to unplug the string of lights that were casting the kitchen in a multi-hued glow. Dean liked the multi-colored lights best. Cas seemed just as enamored with them. Which only meant Sam wasn’t likely to ever win an argument about the damn things ever again.

It was early. But not early enough that he could count on having the bunker to himself for long. Someone would meander in looking for their own cup of coffee soon.

When the coffee was brewed, Sam took his tablet and a piping cup over to his favorite seat in the house. Back to the wall, sitting in the kitchen’s ‘breakfast nook’, Sam took in the day’s news. He read casually, ignoring the blaring of bad headlines and instead focused on the smaller opinion pieces. Some feel-good Sunday morning junk. Flimsy pieces with little information more than a word-of-mouth tale about a dog finding its way home just in time for the holidays.

After the news, Sam idled on a crossword, letting his mind just fizzle out enough to approach pleasantly drowsy. It was almost eight in the morning and he was still alone.

He didn’t mind in the least.

Ten minutes later and the spell broke. Dean shuffled in, robe swishing at his ankles and bare feet padding like a child all the way to the pot of coffee. A bloodhound on the scent, Dean said nothing at all while he fixed himself a cup.

Sam waited until Dean was seated across from him before speaking.

“Morning.”

Dean grunted in response.

“Sleep well enough?”

Dean shrugged, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as his eyes slid closed, “I feel like I might have over-slept.”

“Yeah,” Sam smirked, “Because eight AM on a Sunday is really pushing it.”

Dean’s eyes didn’t open but his brows glared, “You know I’m usually the first one awake Sammy. I like making the most of my daylight.”

Sam sighed, “I feel you.”

“So, why were you awake so early?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Dreams?”

It was a common question between the two of them. Truckloads of PTSD tended to be collected in a psyche after a couple of decades of fighting the monster under the bed.

“Not exactly.”

“Then?” Dean murmured, sipping at his coffee delicately, one corner of his mouth lifting as he savored it.

“It’s different this year and with—with everything going on right now in the bunker—it just feels—”

“Odd.”

“Maybe?”

“Just because it’s going to take time to get resettled with our new sleeping arrangements doesn’t make you any less jazzed about Eileen moving in, Sammy.”

Dean always had a way of cutting out the bullshit and getting right to the meat of an issue. Sometimes he knew Sam better than he knew himself.

“Yeah. And I get that, but I feel like I can’t relax. Like I’m just—”

“Waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Sam swallowed thickly, looking down at the table between them, “Yeah.”

“Look, Sammy, I get it. I’m struggling with my own bit of worry-warting but this is real. You, me, Cas and Eileen? It’s real. We won. We killed God and lived to see the sunrise. I think we can take our win this time.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

Dean’s brows pinched, his mouth flattening as he studied Sam, “Then I am. There’s no amount of overthinking this that is going to make it better. It is, what it is. I can only tell you that I’ve spent years second-guessing and worrying and overthinking to the point it almost cost me Cas,” Dean’s eyes darkened to jade, his throat working in a thick swallow, “I’m not going to do it again.”

There were a handful of moments in Sam’s life where he felt the world shift. Where he had the realization that a conversation, a hug or even a kiss, was going to change his life.

Occasionally, he had conversations with Dean that felt that way. This one, on an average boring Sunday morning, felt like that. He had watched his big brother come to terms with his feelings for Castiel with blood and sweat and tears. He’d watched from the sidelines, frustrated and angry that Dean wouldn’t see reason or was too stubborn to realize he was in love with the goddamn angel and that the poor angel was in love with him. But in the end, he’d gotten front-row seats into a love that he’d never had a chance to see with their parents. He’d seen heartache and then healing. He’d ached but he had also been given hope watching his stubborn mule-headed brother being softened by the mere touch of a hand on his cheek or a whisper in his ear.

In many ways, Sam had witnessed a miracle.

And it had given him the courage to reach out and find his own with Eileen.

“Cas seems happy to be home.”

Dean’s mouth twitched halfway into a smile, the seriousness of the moment fading. “Now that he sleeps, he snores louder than I do.”

“No one snores louder than you do.”

“I beg to differ,” Dean snorted, standing up to meander back toward the fridge. “Pancakes and eggs sound good to you?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Of course, Dean wanted to cook. Dean was the type of person that needed to have everyone fed to feel like they were all happy. In his mind, when the pack was taken care of, food was on the table for three square meals a day. Sam had come to equate cooking and food with Dean and family. He’d come to associate it with home—safety and happiness.

He never said so, because Dean usually got pissy about soft sentiments, but Sam was never able to express how grateful he was for Dean taking care of him. He often wondered how he might have ended up had Dean not taken over the bulk of his younger years as a parent, even though he was just a child himself.

The image of a boy sent to foster care, left to become lost in the system never ceased to make his skin crawl.

“How’s Eileen settling in?”

Sam blinked out of his thoughts and found Dean already elbow-deep in a bowl of batter, whisking like he’d been born to cook. Maybe he had. The man _was_ talented in the kitchen.

“Good. She likes the water pressure in the shower.”

“A woman of good taste.”

Sam smirked, “Did you finish your Christmas shopping yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?”

Dean pursed his lips, scooping a big dollop of pancake into the skillet, “A little. But I’m working out the details. Took me longer than I thought it would.”

“Something for Cas?”

Dean’s smile was a little softer when it was in relation to Cas, a little warmer. Sam didn’t think Dean was even really aware of it and Sam had no intention of ever telling him.

“No.”

“No?”

Dean shook his head, “Nope. I’ve got Cas all done. Eileen too.”

“So—”

Dean flipped a pancake and whistled happily when he inspected one perfectly golden side, “Stop fishing, Sammy. It’ll ruin the surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“You’ll like this one.”

“Now, I’m worried.”

“We’re not gettin’ any younger man, might wanna watch out for that. It makes you age prematurely.”

“Pot, meet Kettle.”

Dean chuckled, “No tricks. Nothing weird. Just something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time. That’s all.”

“Okay.”

Sam drifted off into his own thoughts for the remainder of breakfast preparations until he heard slippered feet coming down the hall and a very owlish looking Eileen came slumping into the kitchen. She signed ‘Good morning,’ to Dean, shook her head no when he offered coffee, then took a seat pressed right up against his side.

Sam sighed into her, arms banding automatically about her narrow shoulders, nose nestling into her bedhead. She smelled like their sheets and her cinnamon sugar scrub. Warm and homey and welcome.

“Morning,” he mumbled, hoping she would catch his meaning by vibration alone. One of her ears was pressed flush to his chest. She nestled in tighter, her arms finding his waist and looping there. Sam’s stomach clenched at the feeling and it made the backs of his eyes burn.

There were some days, it felt like he’d lived several lifetimes in these last ten years. He and Dean had been through so much together. Buried so many loved ones. Lost so many battles. But with their hunting days behind them and retirement spreading wide as their future, Sam still found himself wondering what he’d done to deserve this. Despite hearing Dean’s advice to stop worrying and just live, he still woke in the middle of the night and found himself desperate to wrap around Eileen to protect her. Desperate to make sure she wasn’t going to disappear.

He’d lost before.

Over and over.

Every woman he’d ever loved ended up leaving, dying or being something monstrous.

He couldn’t do it again. Not this time. And not with her. She was—Eileen was everything he’d ever not realized he needed and wanted in a woman. Smart, cunning, and a hunter. As beautiful inside as she was on the outside. Curious and hungry to learn. She matched Sam’s appetite for knowledge, and they could slip into deep philosophical discussions for hours.

Now that he’d experienced life with her, he couldn’t imagine ever going without. And he didn’t want to imagine it.

By the time Cas joined them all in the kitchen, Dean was just putting breakfast on the table. The smell of cinnamon and fresh strawberries scented the air like perfume and Sam wasn’t ashamed in the least to admit that his mouth was watering. They sat shoulder to shoulder, silently digging into the feast Dean had made for them with quiet appreciation.

“Dean, this is wonderful.”

Dean smirked, poking at a pancake on his own plate, “Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel smiled, then shifted the barest bit closer to Dean to bump shoulders with the man. Sam stifled a grin by stuffing his mouth.

That was how breakfast passed. Slowly, with bits of conversation, warm looks and the gentle ebb and flow of the family. That was what they had become. A tightly knit, mismatched, wary little family. Sam wouldn’t have traded it for the world.

“Help me with dishes?” Dean murmured to Cas, ghosting a hand down the angel’s back as they both stood and appeared to be headed for the sink.

“I can do it,” Sam offered, pushing to a stand, “Eileen and I will clean up.”

Dean had turned to frown at Sam and was oblivious to the openly naked want spreading all over Castiel’s face. It would be laughable if it wasn’t so goddamn adorable how bad the two men had it for each other.

“Thanks, Sam,” Cas answered before Dean could.

Dean blinked, lifted a brow at Cas then turned an interesting shade of red Sam had never seen his brother turn as the angel grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the mouth of the hallway.

“So cute,” Eileen sighed beside him, still seated at the table, only now she’d pulled her hair back off her neck and had found something warm to drink. Steam was rising in pretty curls around her neck and chin.

It made her look edible.

It made Sam’s chest ache.

“He deserves to be happy.”

Eileen smiled, her eyes soft, “You do too, Sam.”

Sam found one of her hands, let his own swallow hers and squeezed. She felt stronger than she looked. Delicate but infinitely strong—how he imagined their connection to be. How he imagined this odd family of theirs in his mind.

“Dishes could wait, you know.”

“They could.”

“It’s Sunday—before ten in the morning. Might be nice to lay back down for a bit. Maybe rest some.”

“Rest?” Eileen hummed, leaning into the touch when Sam’s mouth dropped to her ear, the soft skin behind it, then the flutter of her pulse in the hollow of her throat. The ache in his chest was turning into a burn and he _needed_ to quench it.

“Rest—more or less.”

“Less,” Eileen’s voice was barely there, a butterfly’s kiss on his cheekbone as her mouth sought out his.

Eileen kissed like she lived. With a sort of abandon that made Sam’s toes curl and his hands shake. He struggled not to tear clothing or drag her back to their room like a caveman when she undid him like this. When she barely touched him and yet he felt touched down to his marrow.

“Bed?” she whispered, though there was no reason to. It felt right.

Sam’s throat was too tight to answer, so he nodded, grabbing her hand as he stood. Their footsteps should have sounded melancholy in the echoing hollows of the bunker. The chill in the marble and the cold touch of industry should have made it feel like anything but home.

But that wasn’t the case.

As they got to their room, Sam felt the tethers of the bunker and to every soul within. He felt home and for the first Christmas, perhaps ever, he felt that tiny ember of holiday cheer he’d only ever really heard about.

“Sam?” Eileen had stopped just inside their room, her brows drawn together, “You alright?”

It took him a moment to realize she was worried because everything was blurry from a wash of tears in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat, “better than alright.”


End file.
